


"Yes I Know Where Hell is, Hell is in Hello"

by AJGhostWolf



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Big Brother Murdoc, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Jack Hurt, James Hurt, Mac Emotional Hurt, Murdoc Torture, Team Hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJGhostWolf/pseuds/AJGhostWolf
Summary: Well I wanted to read this story for a while, but no one else has written it, so per usual, I'll try to do my idea justice. The idea is, James MacGyver is trying hard to make amends but he's not good at it, and Mac isn't very interested in mending bridges so long burned. Then, Murdoc finds them. Finds out who James is. And . . . . well, let's just say he's protective of his new Little Brother Mac. And James is his target.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

James slowly came to, feeling heavy and slow and unable to focus. There was red Pain! Pain! Pain! feeling all through his head and back, and he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. 

He tried to shift but pain stabbed through his head and left shoulder and he gave a sharp grunt, recoiling mentally from it. 

Someone yelled, “Dad!” And there was the sound of struggling . . . . what was happening? Who was that? 

A wave of memory washed up and smashed him into the cold floor. The wreck, Angus,  _ Angus _ .

“Angus . . . . ?” he slowly croaked. 

“Oh my God, dad!” Angus was still half-yelling. “Are you okay?” 

“Where . . . .” 

“I don’t know. Do you remember anything, the car crash?” 

James grunted an affirmative. He was beginning to feel blood, everywhere. His mouth was sticky with it. 

“Dad, I’m tied to a chair. I can’t see you, so I don’t know if you’re free or not. You’re gonna have to move and find out.” 

James felt his heart sink just a little at that. His boy, who was smarter than he was by a million years, wasn’t going to be able to help him much. Great. 

He still mustered up his courage and shifted. Through the red haze of pain and the strangled gasp he gave, he still heard the sound of chains. 

“Dad?” 

James realised he hadn’t said anything for a minute, trying to recuperate from the agony of movement. “Chains,” he rasped. “Don’t . . . . dunno where.” 

He heard Angus sigh. “Fantastic.” 

They didn’t speak for a long time, James focusing on gradually slowing his breathing and heart rate to something manageable that hurt less. He thought he might have bruised, if not cracked, a few ribs on his left side. He had been the one driving the car, after all, and the semi had hit from that side. 

The image filled his head, the sudden chrome grill practically in his face, the  _ fear _ for Angus, God let him get out of it alive . . . . 

He knew the fatality chances of an SUV versus a semi. They were high. Damn high. But maybe if it didn’t hit Angus’s side, the truck started slowing down, Lady Luck was smiling today, maybe Angus would be okay. That’s what mattered. That Angus would be okay. 

The last thing that struck him was that the truck was a Mack. The irony was the last thing he remembered feeling before  _ blackness _ . 

He didn’t realise he was breathing hard until Angus suddenly said, “Dad,  _ dad _ , you need to calm down. Please, just breath, just breath.” 

James struggled to do as his son said, breath gradually shuddering back into a semblance of normalicy. “Thank you, son,” he half-whispered. 

Angus sighed again. “Yeah. Let’s just try to see who’s gone through all this trouble, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Laughingly on cue, a door squeaked open and Angus growled, “Oh for fuck’s sake.” 

James couldn’t prevent a strangled “Son?” 

“Ah, ah, ah. My friend Mac and his . . . .  _ negligent _ . . . . father. How good to meet you!” 

Footsteps moved closer to James and Angus barked out, “Murdoc, leave him alone!” 

_ Murdoc _ . He’d only heard the name in incident reports. Brief flashes of video footage. The occasional mention by Matty. That was enough to inspire fear. Murdoc was a pure psychopath. 

James heard the footsteps turn back to Angus, and he desperately gasped, “No, you leave him alone!” 

There was a vague thought that normally he’d be trying to not show his cards of concern, trying to mentally convince that he was the one to hurt, but his head was just pounding and spinning and he just didn’t  _ care _ . He had to protect his son. 

Murdoc chuckled darkly and approached James again. “You know,” he said, squatting down next to him. “Mac saved my son’s life a while back. And I don’t like owing people, so I decided I’d do something a little similar. Allowing my good friend here to see the truth. Because the  _ truth will set you free _ , and all that.” 

James heard him smile and shuddered internally. “And the truth is,  _ you _ don’t love him, and never have.” 

“No,” James groaned. He abruptly pushed all that aside as a strain of clarity crept in. “The team. Will find us. And they’ll put you away.” 

Murdoc clocked the change and chuckled darkly. “Y’know, having a semi truck hit an SUV isn’t an exact science.” James felt the psycho’s eyes running up and down his body, categorizing injury. “I’d say you’ve got a concussion, definitely a couple of beat up ribs, a probably-dislocated hip, a  _ lot _ of blood. Gee, do you reckon shrapnel is much of a problem? ‘Cause I’d say you’re pretty peppered with that, too.” 

It was like Murdoc saying it made each injury rear its angry head and bite back hard. For a moment a red haze of  _ pain _ was all he could feel and focus on. 

Murdoc, damn him, noticed James stiffen and barely ride through the pain and just laughed. “Feeling all that now, buddy? Just you wait, we aren’t even getting started yet.” 

“Murdoc!” Angus barked. “Leave him alone. It’s me you wanted, remember?” 

Murdoc chuckled again. “Oh you misunderstand my intentions, Angus.” It sounded like he was pacing. “I want to  _ save  _ you, not hurt you. Your dad though . . . . well, wouldn’t I want to protect my little brother?” 


	2. “Home is Made for Comin’ From, for Dreams of Goin’ to, Which With any Luck Will Never Come True”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well I know I said I'd postpone this chapter, but I didn't so yeah. I'll say y'all can hesitantly expect the next chapter in four or five days, because I gotta work. Anyhow, enjoy and leave your thoughts!

Mac stared at Murdoc with uncharacteristic bafflement. “Excuse me . . . . what?” 

Murdoc shrugged and swanked over to lean down into Mac’s face. “Well y’see, I kinda figure, since we’ve exchanged favors, had fights, locked each other in closets, found out each other’s secrets,” a visible shiver of joy went through him. “Ooh, I just started to think of you as my little brother. All good, bro?” He slapped Mac’s shoulder jovially and backed off, eyes sparkling. 

Jim was working on ignoring the goads and getting his eyes to open, blood had clotted over them and made the process unnecessarily difficult. 

“Now Jimmy here,” Murdoc suddenly said, making James stiffen, “Abandoned  _ my brother _ at five. Left him with grandpa and disappeared. Suddenly showing up out of nowhere having been your  _ kid’s boss _ for years? Jesus Jimmy, you’re a shit father!” 

“Did my best,” James ground out, knowing he shouldn’t but too pissed off to really care. “Did m’ best with . . . . what I had.” 

Murdoc caught the flash of pain and disagreement in Mac’s eyes and grinned. “My brother doesn’t think so, and neither do I, Jimmy.” He lurched over to Jim and kicked him hard in the side, hissing, “So  _ quit lying _ !” 

James heard him coming and tried to bend with the kick, but he was on his hurting chest, blind, and his head was too battered to help with some obscure physics formula, so he took it low and hard, yelling once before he managed to rein noise back in. His lungs and heart stuttered, which felt great, but after a couple seconds he was able to finally pry his eyes open. Murdoc was staring down at him, a faint smile on his owl-ish face. 

“Murdoc!” Mac yelled again, and James could see him thrashing in the chair he was duct-taped to about seven feet away. 

There was blood all over the floor, congealing into small disgusting jelly-like clumps and probably making the entire room stink. It made him feel sick thinking about it, and he’d never been afraid of blood. 

Murdoc watched James as his thoughts wandered, and his glassy eyes again rested on the back of Mac’s head, making sure he was okay. 

“Oh quit lying to yourself,” Murdoc said softly, smiling wider as James glared up at him. “You’ve never loved him, you just knew he had potential. He was just another tin soldier for you.” 

“Never,” James growled. “Angus, you were nev--” 

Murdoc kicked him in the chin, whipping Jim’s head to the side and making his neck pop. “You don’t get to talk to him,” Murdoc said in a very dangerous tone, and both men knew better than to push. 

Jim felt more blood trickling from a both numb and burning spot on his chin, and distantly thought,  _ Great, that’s all I needed. More blood loss. I’ll be so much help at this rate _ . 

“Murdoc . . . .” Mac started. 

Murdoc whirled around and slashed his arms through the air agitatedly. “Just  _ shut up _ ! Everyone just . . . . shut. Up.” He took a couple deep breaths and went right back to stupid smiling. “Right, now. Let’s move one. Time to get this show rolling!” 


	3. “Snow can Burn Your Eyes but Only People Make you Cry”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well it's a shorter chapter but one that I think is okay considering I've been working fourteen hour shifts for four days straight until today. Yeah I'm really tired. Anyway, enjoy the chapter and please leave your thoughts! I always appreciate reading them!

Murdoc left for some reason then, but not before kicking James in the temple, which literally physically  _ ripped  _ him from the bloody, drying floor, and going into a lecture about how the temple was called “God’s little joke” because of its brittleness, and the major artery that ran under it. James already knew that, and he figured Angus probably did too, but he was too busy retching and watching little lights beat the shit out of his brain to say anything edgewise. He wouldn’t have much wanted to anyway, given Murdoc’s sadistic and vengeful nature. 

James couldn’t really calculate time very well anymore, not that he’d ever felt he’d been good at it anyway, so he didn’t know if it was ten seconds or ten minutes before Murdoc left, and didn’t particularly care as long as he was gone. As long as he was leaving Angus alone. 

At some point, it was like he just disappeared from the room, although James logically knew that was not what had happened. His brain was probably just overlapping and overwriting memory with perceptual falsities. The brain was a tricky thing. Some fifty-year smoking triple heart-attack survivor could ski off a cliff and be fine, meanwhile some twenty-year-old coming-up-Milhouse slips on the carpet in their staticky socks and chokes to death on their tongue. A tricky thing, the brain. 

So he was more than a little wary of his observational reliability in the moment. 

And he’d be plain stupid to derationalize or ignore the strong possibility of not surviving this particular . . . . escapade. Even if he and Angus did, there was going to be aftermath. It would probably be messy, if it wasn’t already enough. 

Arrogance was a perceptual cover for fear, guaranteed every time. Fear of loss, fear of weakness, stupidity, the world, everything. It didn’t take even the minorest of psychology courses to see it if a person was perceptive enough. 

James truly did not want to push his son away, but he had to acknowledge that he probably wouldn’t get out of this alive, and Murdoc was unlikely to let him die any of the easy ways. No, his kind ran more toward  _ beating _ someone to death. 

The trauma that would doubtlessly leave Angus was high, and James would not, could not, allow Angus to go through that. 

He’d have to make it easier on him. 

“Son,” James slowly grated out, eyes tearing and hardly able to say what he wanted to. “He’s right. I left you. You were just . . . . another agent.” 


	4. “I’ve Never Seen a Sight That Didn’t Look Better Looking Back”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapters are just par for my course I guess, but I'm working a heckuva lot and very tired so I hope y'all appreciate it! Please leave your thoughts, I love to hear 'em!

Mac didn’t move for a moment. 

He finally sighed, took a deep breath, and felt his eyes begin to water. How his soul itself wanted to accept that statement. 

“You and I know that’s bullshit,” Mac mumbled almost conversationally. “So don’t. We’ll be fine. We’ll get out.” 

“ _ Son _ ,” James could  _ feel _ vomit bubbling up the harder he pushed the words out. 

“ _ Dad _ .” Mac glared at the far wall. “Shuttup. Everything’s fine. Don’t do this right now.” 

James knew he didn’t have anything left to fight with, but he had to keep trying. 

That was the last thought he had before he passed out. 

* * * * *

At some point when he passed out he must have actually thrown up, he realised, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience to wake up to. But the sticky, bitter taste of vomit was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing Murdoc in the room. 

“Ah Jimmy! How nice of you to join us.” Murdoc’s feral smile came and faded in half a second. “Heard your little confession. Gotta say, I’m impressed you’re trying so hard. But” he moved his hands with every word like an orchestra conductor with every word, “it’s  _ not _ hard  _ enough _ .” 

“Oh go to hell,” James was surprised to hear himself mumble. 

Murdoc  _ grinned _ . “Ah ah, Jimmy, be polite to your host!” He got a toe under Jim’s shoulder and roughly kicked him over onto his back. 

James felt like the world exploded. 

Through ringing and wheezing and just  _ red _ , he heard Murdoc laugh. Damn the sadistic bastard. 

“Oh Jimbo, you’ve got a, uh, bit of blood on your shirt there. You should probably take care of that, huh?” 

He dug the heel of his boot into Jim’s bad left side ribs and laughed at the color Jim’s face turned. 

“Oh we’re going to have so much fun!” 


	5. "I Was Born Under a Wand'rin' Star"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm a big Markiplier and Unus-Annus fan, and I just watched a sensory deprivation tank video, and thought that would be an absolute hell for me. So I thunk up a little bit of torture for the boys, and, yeah, this chapter really just flowed together real quick and I hope ya enjoy it!

Murdoc moved so quickly, he had the scruff of Jim’s neck in his hand before James even processed that he’d said anything. 

Murdoc wrenched him up, unlocked whatever shackles were on his hands, and started dragging him backward away from Angus, so James weakly thrashed and fought, trying to get loose. Murdoc just cuffed him on the side of the head, almost gently, and kept moving. 

“Oh have I got a special treat for you, Jimmy boy. I hope you’re exciteeeed!” 

When James just kicked at him, he laughed a little. “Oh settle down, Jimbo. You know, you people are such visual thinkers. Big time processors, right? Sensors, one could even say. Well, when I found out that Mac got all his talent from  _ you _ , I just had to whip a little idea I’d had cookin’ for a while now.” 

He shoved James through a door and into a dark and tiny room, maybe the size of a hot tub, two feet lower than the normal floor and every bit of that filled with salt water. 

James came out of the water ready to kill, eyes and numerous cuts stinging like all get out, but a  _ very _ competent-looking handgun stopped him dead. 

“Oh do play nice.” Murdoc gave a half-smile. “Enjoy the deprivation chamber, Jimmy. I’m sure it’ll be a real pleasure, for someone like you.” 

And he closed the door. James heard it lock not even seconds later. 

He staggered and fell into a corner, adrenaline long used up and the water cold and burning. That hip was definitely dislocated, and it  _ fucking hurt _ . 

Much as it pained him to admit, Murdoc was right. For people that were accustomed to  _ things _ and outer influences, sensory deprivation was a cruel form of torture. He’d never met anyone that had the means to put that together, though. Until now. 

Murdoc had his fingers in all the pies, he could get whatever he wanted, wherever, whenever. 

God he was a sonuvabitch. 

James wrapped his arms around his good leg, propped himself in the corner, and tried to wash the blood from his face. It hurt, but far as he could tell it worked. Sitting on his hip was no great experience, though. Every shiver that ran through his body made him yelp or stutter on a curse. Often enough both. 

He could drown himself, he vaguely realised. No pleasant thing, in salt water. The lungs begin to bleed before water ever even enters them, so it wasn’t drawing on the water, really, it was drowning on the  _ blood _ . 

Fuck those years in biology classes. 

James shook his head hard, opening up his nose again, making his hip throb painfully and nausea to rear up. After he overrode that, he told himself not to take the coward’s way out. Not again. 

He had too many times already. 

* * * * *

It was a long damn time before anything changed in the stupid little room. Near the beginning, when he still felt like he was capable of sane thought, he figured it could be close to night time. Perhaps Murdoc wanted him in the damn tank for a night. 

A few more hours and that thought was long abandoned. He was almost certain that he’d been left in the tank to die. 

At first, acceptance was stoic and calm. As the hours wore on, they got messier. It started with a tick, his head jerking sideways every so often at unpredictable times. Then rubbing arms. Scratching arms. Scratching the walls, the floor, clawing at the water. He crawled to the door and left eight sets of red scratches down the metal, smeared by a quickly-followed shoulder that tried hopelessly to break the door down. There wasn’t a chance in hell of that. 

James drug his unresponsive and hurting body all over the damn little box, trying to find a way out in the pitch black and cold. 

And by the time Murdoc waded in and pulled him out, his skin was turning blue. His fingers were already purple. His eyes were wild, darting, and diluted. The water in the room had turned a murky pink, and he had a red sheen all over his skin and clothes. He wasn’t using his left leg, it just dragged behind him. No doubt torn muscles and ligaments, Murdoc correctly guessed. 

He was muttering something unintelligible. Murdoc didn’t particularly care to know what he was saying, regardless, but the fact that he’d fallen so far in so short a time . . . . was nothing short of, well,  _ orgasmic _ , really. 

For the fun of it, midway back to the main room, Murdoc sunk a fist deep into Jim’s gut and let him fall. 

The man just gathered his strength back and tried to get up, lurching through a clumsy punch aimed for Murdoc’s chest. 

Murdoc laughed, sidestepped, and pushed James into a wall. His bad hip landed first with a sickening noise, and Jim actually  _ screamed _ as the joint was pushed further out of place. He sunk to his right side and just whimpered on the floor, trying to get it all to just  _ stop _ . 

Murdoc grabbed his shirt collar and just started dragging, laughing. “Oh, Jimmy, I know that look. And I just can’t wait to see what Mac thinks of you now, you stupid, fucking  _ coward _ !” 


	6. “Hurt People Just Hurt People, Why Aren’t we Used to that Pain?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving right along with my new streak of muse! Enjoy and leave your thoughts!

Murdoc dropped Jim in front of Angus this time, who caught his breath and felt tears at the back of his eyes when he saw just how  _ battered _ James actually was. 

“Dad,” he choked out. 

James didn’t even respond, he just got a hand on his hip and tried not to scream again. 

Mac’s vision whipped up to Murdoc. “The  _ fuck _ did you do to him?!” 

Murdoc had a pistol in hand, aimed at Jim. Not at any particular spot, just there. He had a knife in his hand. 

He stepped forward, once, twice, and then sliced the duct tape on Mac’s left wrist. He didn’t even touch skin. 

He offered out the knife, gun still pointed vaguely backward. His smile was so  _ brotherly _ that Mac wanted to gag. 

“Jimmy’s gonna need a little help,” was all he said. “And either you can help him, and you both live to see another round, or you can do something stupid and I shatter his kneecap. It would be awfully hard to be a spy without the use of his legs, wouldn’t it?” 

Mac didn’t grace that comment with a response. He just sawed through the remaining piece of tape and darted to James. 

There was a folded blanket and towel against the far wall, and Mac sent a questioning glance at Murdoc. 

Murdoc feigned a surprised face and said, “Oh, by all means!” 

Mac just retrieved them, and tried not to think about the psycho’s mind games. 

“Dad, I’m gonna need to take some of your clothes off, okay?” 

Hypothermia increased exponentially with wet clothes. 

When James didn’t respond, Mac just started trying to work his shirt off. Though he gave a few panicked swipes at first, he eventually seemed to realise it was Angus trying to help him and just relaxed as much as possible against the cold concrete floor. 

Mac, for his part, winced when he saw the condition of his dad’s fingers. They were already purple from cold, but he’d used them to try and claw his way around and were now bloody and bruised. He was missing two nails, right index and left ring. He was obviously not yet aware of the fact. Mac could  _ smell _ the salt, and could see it had irritated most of the wounds. 

He wanted a gun more than ever in his life. He wanted to kill Murdoc so badly, he could feel himself trembling. 

He shook it off and focused on the job at hand; saving his father’s life. 

Right away Mac could see a dozen shrapnel wounds of various size, none of them too serious but none too healthy either. 

His eyes were drawn to old wounds, though, more than new. 

There were five bullet scars, stitching from the high right side down to the left in a ragged line. A knife scar, low and slashing across Jim’s belly, and what looked like maybe a snake bite high right side. Bruises and bloody water sheen highlighted the scars more than usual, but they were still very obvious and if Mac wasn’t crying before, he felt like he was now. 

“Why couldn’t you have just let me in?” he whispered. “All this . . . . I could’ve  _ helped _ , dad. You could have  _ died _ , and I’d never have known.” 

The feeling of Murdoc’s eyes stopped him from continuing. 

“Better . . . . better me than . . . . you,” James muttered, so quiet only Mac could hear him. “Always better.” 

Mac shook off the statement. “Come on old man, we need to get you warmed up.” Under his breath he added, “Love you too, dad.” 


	7. “We Just Gotta Find a Way to Love”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I actually had this chapter done this morning at like five, but I forgot to post it until now, so yeah. My bad. And yeah, another shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoy it!

James made him stop at the jeans. Given that about everything else had to be taken off, Mac humored him and just bunched the tower up over his legs, avoiding his bad hip wherever possible. Even putting the towel down above his knee was enough to make James stiffen up and bark out a short curse. 

Mac grimaced. “Sorry.” He looked James in the eye. “Y’know we’re going to have to set that . . . .” 

James had started to nod when Murdoc interjected, “No. It builds character, don’t it, Jimmy? You’ll leave that be.” 

Mac glared at him. “The damage it’ll cause by being out of socket only increases the longer . . . .” 

Murdoc feigned a look of confusion. “Oh, do I look like someone who gives a shit? Oh dear dear, I better fix my  _ fucking _ makeup I guess.” He gave an exasperated gesture with his gun hand. “No, no, no, no, no, no.” 

Mac sighed and turned back to his dad, using the towel to dab away blood and salt water. “Can I at least take the shrapnel out?” 

Murdoc was getting more agitated. “The fuck do you think I’m gonna say?” He lost what was left of his temper. “Finish up and sit back down. Now.” 

Mac was--stupidly--about to argue when James grabbed his wrist and shook his head. “‘S fine, son.” 

Mac obviously didn’t like it, but he spread the blanket over James and dutifully walked back to the chair. 

James watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Murdoc once again taped Mac down, head on the floor and all but half dead. It was almost like he could feel the shrapnel moving around inside of him, and he could certainly feel the dislocated hip jabbing into the floor and digging into his pelvis. He couldn’t decide which was the more unpleasant of the two. At least he had a blanket to try to get warm. 

“Okay, Jimbo,” Murdoc grinned. “Let’s start again. Remember, you have to be  _ convincing _ . Move me!” 

James glared at him. “‘M not playin’ your games,” he half-slurred. 

Murdoc gave the feral look. “Oh no? Well, I suppose I‘ll have to give you some incentive then.” 


	8. “I Can’t Push you Away to Save You From my Vision”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday, y'all! I know I've been posting a lot more than even I thought that I could, but tomorrow night I start my shift for the week so I'll put out a hesitant period of maybe five days where I probably won't be able to post. Hope this chapter is enjoyable, though, and that you don't mind waiting on me. Gotta work. Anyway, enjoy!

He laid the knife blade across Mac’s knuckles and growled, “Next time you tell me  _ no _ , you’re responsible for Mac losing his fingers. What good would he be without the use of his hands, Jimmy?” He leered. “That’s right, none. So you better get a  _ lot more _ eager.” 

James swallowed. “Angus--” 

“Dad, don’t you dare.” 

“Angus, I tried to convince your mother to have an abortion when she became pregnant. I . . . . I never wanted you. Still wouldn’t, if it weren’t for the interests of Phoenix.” 

Mac shook his head sharply. “That’s not true. I know it isn’t.” But he was crying. 

James just turned slightly away and addressed Murdoc. “There. You can let him go.” 

Murdoc huffed a slight laugh. “Oh Jimmy, you do try. But no, as long as I have two of you, both of you might behave. For now.” 

James grimaced and failed to keep his disappointment from his pain-greyed face. 

Murdoc just smiled and displayed a pair of handcuffs. “Well as much fun as our playtime is, I have some . . . .  _ pressing _ work to attend to.” He locked Jim’s hands in front of him. Just before he unlocked the door, he looked back and winked. “Don’t go anywhere now.” And slammed the door behind him. 

“God I fucking hate that guy,” Mac growled, fighting against the duct tape on his wrists. 

James just hummed in agreement, wanting very much to sleep but not willing to leave Angus alone again. Against his will, he still caught his eyelids starting to droop. He was starting to dream awake, too. 

“Dad, it’s okay, you need to sleep.” 

James growled and shook his head slightly. “Can’t . . . . can’t leave you alone.” 

Mac almost sighed. “Dad, I’m not ten years old. I’ll be fine. Go to sleep.” 

Jim’s brain didn’t need any more prompting and he spiraled into black oblivion. 

* * * * *

His dreams all centered on his fears. In one particularly bad one, Murdoc had used a strip of razor wire to slice Angus’ throat open. He woke up screaming from that one. 

Angus had been dozing himself, and both jerked awake in panic. 

“Sorry, son,” James panted. “Sorry.” 

“Your hip?” 

“Yeah,” James lied. “Tried to set it myself . . . . didn’t feel . . . . particularly great.” 

“Oh.” Mac slumped back into his chair. “Yeah, we really gotta find a way to fix that. The sooner the better.” 

James just stared at Angus for a moment. “Angus, no matter what happens, just remember I love you. There’s some assets . . . . Matty knows about them, they’ll keep Phoenix afloat for a time, barring any extenuating--” 

“Dad! Don’t. We don’t need to do this. You and I will be  _ fine _ , okay? We. Will. Be. Fine.” 

James wanted so desperately to agree, but deep down he was seriously doubting it. 


	9. "Killing Myself Lately That's Been my Mission"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for waiting so patiently for this chapter, a lot of stuff going on with my work and graduation and things, but I hope I still did a good job on this chapter regardless. Let me know what you think, I always love to get feedback, it really makes my day!

“I thought I told you  _ ‘hold him down _ ,’ so what was that shit?” Murdoc yelled at his new henchmen. “Do you not understand simple  _ physics _ , or are you just fucking  _ morons _ ?” He shook his head hard in irritation. “Get out. I’ll do it myself.” 

_ Ouch _ , James thought hazily. Getting sent out by the boss was not very promising for the future of your job. 

He didn’t really feel that bad for them, though. 

They’d been trying to hold him down so that Murdoc could pour perfluorocarbon down his throat. Phoenix had done some tests on it in the past, so James knew that while he wouldn’t die from the ‘breathable liquid,’ coming out of it was  _ not _ pleasant. And his lizard brain was pretty damned convinced that it would still kill him. 

So, despite the pain in his entire body, he fought back. 

He’d kicked one in the nose and punched the other in the nuts. Which hadn’t been on purpose, but still. 

They’d also taken Angus from the room two hours ago. And James was getting worried. 

Murdoc glowered after the door for a moment. “God, you just  _ cannot _ find good help these days.” 

He turned back to James, who was wheezing on the floor. One of the guys had landed a good shove to his bad ribs, so he was not all there at the moment. 

“Y’know, Jimmy,” Murdoc said, squatting down next to him, “I’m trying to  _ help _ you. Perfluorocarbon is a tissue-healing agent. It might actually--” 

“Oh shut up,” James forced out. “I  _ know _ . . . . what it does. I don’t want your . . . .  _ help _ .” 

Murdoc almost laughed, but the look in his eyes was dead serious. “Fine.” 

He stood up and took the bucket of perfluorocarbon to the door, where several other buckets of it were, and dropped it there. He swaggered back and stared down at James. 

“You keep putting up a damn good fight, for being such an old guy.” His eyes went over Jim’s body, up and down, almost  _ compassionately _ , unnerving the MacGyver. When he dropped next to James again, James actually flinched. 

But all Murdoc did was gently spread the blanket over him, which, as he shuddered in revulsion, James considered might actually be  _ worse _ than the psycho getting physical with him. 

Murdoc, as usual, clocked the emotion and grinned ferally. He leaned close to Jim’s ear and almost intimately whispered, “Been so long since you have someone be friendly with you, James? Not since your late wife, hmm?” 

James felt rage just sweep over him, a red haze settle behind his eyes. He struck out at Murdoc with his good arm, completely going to kill. 

Murdoc just seized that arm and slammed it into the ground, giggling and tracing a cut around Jim’s mouth with his fingertips. “I’m guessing that’s a no,” he said teasingly. 

James fought against him and gasped in outrage, bucking against Murdoc and trying like hell to get his uncooperative, battered body to obey him and kill the man. 

Murdoc shook his head and clucked his tongue fondly. “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. You just gotta . . . . accept things eventually, y’know?” 

He then  _ licked _ Jim’s face. 

James froze for a moment, then bit Murdoc’s tongue as hard as he could. 

Murdoc, tongue now streaming blood, jerked back and backhanded James so hard across the face his head bounced off the floor. His nose and cheek immediately split open again and he felt his teeth go all the way through his cheek and hit the metal floor. The crunching noise made him sick to his stomach. 

Murdoc shook his head sharply and shouted, “ _ Whoo _ ! You really just don’t give up, do ya, Jimmy?” He giggled, starting to pace around randomly. 

James just struggled to clear his head, ignored the cracking feeling in his skull and tried to keep an eye on Murdoc. He could feel the sluggishness of blood loss flooding him, and his desperation grew. If he passed out, Murdoc could do whatever the hell he wanted. And that thought terrified him. 

Murdoc, damn him, again clocked the fuzzy confusion in his eyes, got his usual predatory grin. “Uh oh, Jimmy,” he chuckled darkly. “Spacing out a bit?” 

Everything felt like it went into a half-dimension. Like things were happening, simultaneously to and not to him. He felt his breathing pick up and everything started taking a three second delay from  _ seeing _ to  _ understanding _ . 

He hitched himself to a sitting position, growled, “Fuck,” as his hip jabbed so painfully he almost passed out. Suddenly he was staring at the ceiling. From his back. Back of his head aching. He struggled on again, but didn’t even make it to his elbows before darkness just crashed into him. 

And the last thing he heard was that damn sadistic bastard’s laugh. 


	10. "Hurt People Just Hurt People, They do it, They do Everyday"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movin' along in my slow, rambling, country kinda way, but movin' nonetheless! As always, leave your thoughts, i always enjoy reading them!

The next time consciousness decided to bless him, or maybe curse him, with lucidity, Angus was back in his chair, looking only slightly worse for wear with a dark forming bruise on his chin and mussed up hair. 

James was just glad he could _ see _ him, and that he was mostly alright. 

“Dad, are you okay?” 

James did a mental rundown of his body and detected nothing new. “‘M fine, son,” he half-wheezed. 

“Gee, ya that’s sure confidence-inspiring,” Mack muttered, more to himself than his father. 

“Sorry.” 

Mack sighed. “No, you don’t have to apologize.  _ I’m _ sorry. I’m just ready to get out of here.” He slumped slightly in his chair. “We’re on a ship. Big one.” 

James frowned slightly, sluggishly mulling that through his slow brain. “How’d he pull that off?” he mumbled. 

“I don’t know. I don’t particularly care. I just want out.” He tugged at the duct tape on his wrists. “Just gotta figure out  _ how _ .” 

“Give the team time, son.” James didn’t realise his eyes had closed. “Give ‘em time.” 

“Ya, well, that’s more time for Murdoc to hurt  _ you _ , so I don’t like that option.” 

“Better me than you.” The response was automatic, but it was nonetheless heartfelt and true. 

Mack sighed his irritance, but didn’t pursue it. 

The door slammed open and Murdoc’s familiar pace strode in, boot steps echoing loudly across what was apparently metal decking. “Hey little bro!” He paused a moment and James could  _ hear _ his feral grin. “And,  _ Jim _ .” 

James just wheezed a growl at him and fought to pry his eyes open, glaring weakly at him. 

“Now now, Jimmy-boy. Keep it calm. Wouldn’t want you to get all worked up now, would we?” 

“Fuck you,” James spat as venemously as he could, which was not very and mostly just kind of pathetic sounding. 

“Well that’s just rude.” 

Murdoc made his way to James and hauled him to a sitting position by his ripped shirtfront. James hissed in pain as weight was thrown onto his dislocated hip, but Murdoc didn’t even seem to notice that. He just drug him over the short distance to a wall and half-threw him against it. When James again growled out his protest, Murdoc gave a little smile and just shoved his cuffed hands up, locking them into another stationary set of manacles far enough above Jim’s head it was decidedly very uncomfortable. 

It put undue strain on his damaged ribs, and if he tried to ease those, it sent his hip into a conniption fit of deep agony. So James snarled, “You motherfucker.” 

Murdoc’s eyes flashed dangerously and his hand closed in a snakefast movement on Jim’s neck. Hard. 

“Don’t,” he said in a half-singsong, half deadly tone. And he stared James in the eyes until they started becoming eerily bloodshot from lack of oxygen, and panic began appearing. His face was rapidly turning purple. 

Mack, who couldn’t see because Murdoc’s back was in his way, started yelling. “Murdoc, don’t you dare . . . . Let him go right now!” He was visibly shaking in rage. “You kill him and I swear, no matter how hard it is, I’ll kill you!” 

Murdoc actually laughed and released Jim’s neck, watching him cough and choke and sputter with bemusement. 

He turned and regarded Mack with a little infectious grin. “I always knew that I could pull out that dark side in you, little bro!” His grin grew wider. “Don’t worry, I don’t really want to kill your despicable father. I want  _ you _ to do it!” 


	11. "Skip a Rope" - Henson Cargill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep, you've probably figured out all my titles are song lyrics, and no I won't stop :)

Murdoc gave that snarly grin. “But for now, let’s put that aside, shall we?” 

He stood in a fluid motion and looked between Mack and James with what seemed like uncontainable excitement. He said softly, “Oh we are going to have just  _ so much fun _ .” 

* * * * *

This time when the henchmen came in, they were carrying a roll of duct tape and some savage grins on their faces, and James felt his gut drop sharply in fear. 

While Murdoc distracted him by kicking him in the ribs, the men seized his legs and wrapped his ankles tightly in the tape, yanking them all the while and about shorting his brain out with the combined pain. He tried to fight back but only ended up screaming in combined frustration and agony. And one of the henchmen just laughed and sat on his ankles, holding him down while the other retrieved the buckets of perfluorocarbon. 

James and Mack both saw what was coming and struggled harder, but Murdoc rested his gun against Jim’s damp head and gave a soft, deadly grin. “The more you struggle the more it’s going to hurt,” he told Jim quietly, eyes lit up in a way that said he’d  _ love _ for James to struggle. 

Out of sheer anger, arrogance, and general unwillingness to be cooperative, James just spat on one of the henchmen and fought harder. 

The spat-on henchman grinned and jerked hard on his ankles. And his hip was pulled forcefully back into the socket. And James promptly blacked the fuck out in utter agony. 

When he came to, there was perfluorocarbon in his lungs. He tried to hack it back up, but they just held him still and dumped more down his throat. He was in panic mode, feeling perfluorocarbon going up his nose and plenty more going into his stomach, making him even more nauseous. He tried to shake his head hard enough to dislodge the three assholes holding him down, but a good week of starvation and general torture had totally thrown his abilities into a spiral and all he did was choke harder. He felt like he couldn’t  _ breath _ , and the panic blossomed into full-fledged  _ terror _ . 

They could tell from the jerkiness of his movements that the transition had happened and just started laughing. Murdoc made a gesture and they backed off with smirks, letting him throw up and heave and half-cry through the moment. When he recovered enough to snarl at one of them that was laughing, they moved in on him again, shark smiles on their ugly faces. 

Mack watched on in sad fury, silent in face of Murdoc’s credible threat, but not liking the situation at all. 

He didn’t realise he was crying until Murdoc said, “Oh no, bro, what’s a-matter? Seeing your no-good papa get what was coming to him not easy? Well, I’m sure you’ve heard that nothing good ever comes easy. Eventually, you’ll see that all this is for the best.” He grinned. “I’d save your tears, little brother. Trust me, he ain’t worth them.” 


	12. “Listen to Your Children While They Play, Now Ain’t it Kinda Funny What Children Say?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, y'all asked for Jack whump, and I finally got to a point to bring it *on*. Enjoy!

They continued using the perfluorocarbon on him for a full hour. 

It was a desperately agonizing amount of time that felt  _ years _ longer than any measly hour. 

When they finally,  _ finally _ stopped, James felt himself sobbing with fear and relief. He was utterly trembling, his hip was severely on fire, and his ribs were well beyond screaming at him from all the thrashing he’d done trying to get away from them. 

Mack was similarly crying by the end of it, having watched his father be repeatedly brought to death’s door by panic attack. He would wish it on no one, not even Murdoc. No, he wanted to do something  _ far _ worse to him, involving the electrical components of a blowtorch, a chainsaw blade, and just enough general knowledge of human anatomy to make sure he didn’t hit anything major for a good long while. 

He was still passionately imagining it when Murdoc waltzed back into the room, his minions behind him, with a bruised and bleeding Jack Dalton in tow. 

* * * * *

Jack looked around, mouth agape, and declared, “Mother of fuck . . . . what in the shit, Mack, where you been?!” He glanced around briefly, paled when he saw James against the wall, and then added, “And where we at now?” 

Murdoc grinned. “Oh, y’know, we’re just . . . .  _ hanging _ out. Right Jimmy?” 

James cowered slightly into himself when Murdoc addressed him, and Jack glared in bewilderment between all the people in the room. “Uhh, maybe I missed somethin’ here. Murdoc is a sociopath  _ but _ he ain’t no,” he gestured around with a confused and wrinkled expression. “I dunno . . . . family counsellor?” 

_ “Jack,” _ Mack barked sharply, giving the man a meaningful look. 

“Wal I’m sorry but, really, what in the hell Murdoc? Fuck all is the point of . . . .” he gave Jim’s figure a disgusted look. “This?” 

Murdoc grinned sharply. “Because, Jack-a-boy, Mack’s my  _ little brother, _ and I’m protecting him.” The smile faded. “And I’m gonna do whatever it takes.” 


	13. "Keep Your Nose on the Grindstone, and Out of the Pills"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapters lately gang, I'm sorry about that but I'm gonna start working two jobs and pulling 78 hour weeks in the field, so this might be the best you'll get from me for a couple months. Again, sorry! I do hope you enjoy what I can post and that you'll leave some suggestions for me, I'll probably be too tired to think for myself for a bit :) Anyway, enjoy!

“Y’know, just because it pisses me off don’t mean that I don’t  _ get it _ , Mac. He was just tryin’ to protect you, man, and I’d say that the past couple weeks, at least, he did a  _ pretty _ damn good job.” 

Mac and Jack, tied back-to-back in similar chairs, were quietly discussing Murdoc and James while the former was restlessly sleeping, still chained to the wall. 

“That’s not the point, Jack,” Mac interjected. “Or at least . . . . not the  _ whole _ point. First of all, how the hell did Murdoc find out about him? And plan that attack? And get a  _ friggin’ ship?” _ he paused, letting his anger cool to a more manageable bubbling.  _ “And why in God’s name does he think of us as brothers?”  _

Jack shrugged. “I dunno, man, I’m not exactly an expert on psychology or anthropology whatever-the-hell kinda ‘ology’ you wanna call it. I just know that in his own, hard kind of way, he loves you.” 

Mac frowned. “Murdoc?” 

“No, Mac, your dad.” Jack laughed once before sighing deeply. “Well, I guess Murdoc  _ too _ but that’s different. It isn’t  _ good _ love like your dad’s is, deep down.” 

It was Mac’s turn to sigh. “Really,  _ really _ deep down, sometimes.” He stared sadly at his father’s battered figure, and eventually murmured, “Is it bad that . . . . I’ve felt closer to him, more loved . . . . in the past, what, couple weeks than since I was a kid? While he’s being tortured right in front of me, paraded around like a . . . . like a  _ trophy?” _

Jack digested the outburst for a moment, then eventually softly said, “No, Mac. It isn’t bad. I mean, it’s almost good, in a way. Your dad is showing you that  _ he cares _ , Mac. Inhibitions, ethics, all that other stuff aside, it’s probably kinda therapeutic for both you and your dad. Obviously not everything, because this is,” he looked around with revulsions and a little fear, “totally traumatizing, but maybe you’ll get something good outta this.” 

Mac almost scoffed. “Yeah. Maybe.” 

Jack recognized he needed to break that train of thought. “Hell, Mac, I’m starvin’. They give y’all anything to eat in this joint or what?” 

“Uhh,” Mac’s face wrinkled into deep thought. “I think, like, twice for me, whenever dad was gone . . . . I think they’re giving him protein injections or something.” 

Jack grimaced in his usual, cartoonish way. “Ew. Well, I’m hongry and I hope they decide to feed the purty ones around here.” 

Mac directed him a look of utter disbelief. “Oh, and you’ll get fed because  _ you’re _ the pretty one?” 

“Well, yeah!” Jack nodded, grinning. “Have you seen this face?” 

“Waay too many times,” Mac joked with feign irritance. 

Jack about yelped. “Hey! That’s no way to speak to a pretty, dignified person like m’self!” 

Mac’s laugh was genuine this time. 

In another way he wasn’t sure he was very proud of, he was kind of glad that Jack, his  _ real _ brother, was here with him. 

Jack, similarly, was glas he was too. Because judging by the looks of Overwatch and his partner, they were barely clinging in there. 

And he was gonna take that up with Murdoc. 

So he settled down to bantering with Mac, and waiting. 


	14. “The State of This World it’ll bring you to Tears”

James watched the big IV slide into his dirty and palid forearm with a dull expression, the pain of the needle not even translating among all of his other aches and pains. His eyes were glassy and sunken, and he was  _ exhausted _ beyond all understanding. 

After his hip was relocated, it settled into a dull but manageable ache, and a new pain reared in his left shoulder. He almost certainly had a broken clavicle, scapula, or coracoid process, possibly even all three. In reality he was actually amazed he hadn’t sustained worse injuries from the wreck, like a  _ pulverised _ left side or smashed up limbs. Matter of fact, he was damn lucky to be alive at all. 

That knowledge only did so much to help him in the here and now, though. 

His head was laying loosely against the wall and his raised right arm, which remained cuffed to the wall. The left had literally been  _ bolted _ to the floor through his palm, which felt just as good as you’d expect it to. 

A wadded up towel was just pressed into it to stop the bleeding, and Murdoc started hooking up the IV. 

They’d wised up to how far his anger was willing to push his battered body and also locked his feet to the floor with a bent piece of rebar and household pipe clamps, but that was more than enough to stop a starved cripple from kicking at their knees. 

His shirt was still in a clumped up, salt-stiff pile on the other side of the room, and he was shivering totally unconsciously at this point. The blanket he’d had had been kicked somewhere during the perfluorocarbon exercise. He wanted it back, it was really, really damn cold and uncomfortable against bulkhead and bolts. And being shirtless had never been a particularly  _ enjoyable _ thing for him, even alone. Much less when he was beat all to hell, and in front of his son and his best friend, who was also an employee. 

Godsake, had life always been this complicated? he wondered hazily. 

Murdoc had finished attaching the actual bag to the tubes and opened the final valve, grinning creepily at James to see exactly what would change. 

James didn’t know what Murdoc had decided to inject, so he couldn’t prepare himself for anything. It could be anything, psychedelics, pain killers, saline, poison, literally  _ anything _ . The man was impossible to predict because he acted on pure impulse, and his conscience was negligible at best. So James just tried his best to ignore the maniac and accept whatever happened. 

And everything happened very fast after that. 

It was  _ cold _ , chilled burning like dry ice. And then it started to hurt. Not just searing, it was much, much worse. Like slowly being filleted molecule by molecule  _ pain _ . Dull-knife-as-a-saw pain. 

His back arched and he let out some guttural, primal yell he didn’t even realise  _ he _ was making for a solid two seconds, he was so blown off track by the . . . . whatever-the-hell demonic substance it was. 

And then abruptly, the pain was completely gone. Not just in his forearm, in his whole body. 

It took him an even longer moment to process that, and he couldn’t help but send a confused and panicked look at Murdoc, who, for his part, just sat there and grinned like the devil possessed. 

“Like my little cocktail, Jimbo? Whipped it up special for just you!” He chuckled darkly. “Or should I say, my scientists did. Their hypothesis about its effects appears to be spot-on, too, if you’re interested.” 

James managed to gather up just enough stringy, slimy saliva to spit at him. 

Murdoc nearly backhanded him, and he flinched deeply before realising he’d held back for some reason. 

“This little cocktail has a touch of everything,” he said, continuing like nothing had happened while flicking spit from his cheek. It seemed that Jim’s aim was still half-decent, at three feet at least. “I’m told it’s, well, quite potent. And dangerous, too.” 

James could actually  _ hear _ the way his lips parted and slid over his teeth when he smiled, and it made him violently physically sick. When he dry-heaved, Murdoc actually had the nerve to laugh. 

“I was told it could bring on some nausea.” 

“You do that well enough without its help,” James shot back, not knowing where he came up with  _ wit _ at a time like this, when he was all but half dead from blood loss and insanity. 

Murdoc’s smile faded slightly, then grew wider. “Ooh, jokes, Jim? That’s a new one for you. I  _ like _ it!” He seized Jim’s jaw with his left hand in a painfully hard grip. “But I’d refrain from aiming that at me, if I were you. It could get . . . . well,  _ messy _ .” 


	15. “It Takes Twice as Long to Build Bridges You Burn”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic is tied so so closely with the Zootopia one for number of hits, and I just must say that I'm both so grateful and so amused. Every time I think about it I just sit here and start chuckling like an idiot. Anyway, thanks for the good laughs and enjoy!

Having Dalton here was good and bad. Mac would have someone to lean on, thankfully, when . . . . the inevitable happened. And bad because that was one more person privy to the messy, degrading way he was probably going to die. Good and bad. 

He thought he now had an orbital socket fracture on his left. Damn minion bastard had hit him bloody fuckin’ hard. It had to have hurt the guy’s hand almost as much, but that thought wasn’t really comforting James all too much. 

He’d lost who-knows-how-much blood, had a dozen cracked or fractured bones, and the drug they were inconsistently exposing him to was actually making everything worse. Coming off that shit was like coming off a cliff face-first. It sucked. 

Mac and Jack were fairly quiet now, either in some much-needed companionable silence or just in shock. James was decently alright with that, though. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend it was just him in this hellhole, and stave off the stupid embarassment he felt being so helpless in front of them. 

But at the moment, skating the line of pain on another randomly drug-induced hour, he was wondering  _ why.  _

“Why?” he eventually mush-mouthed. 

“Hmm?” Murdoc asked, meeting half-lidded, sucken eyes with excitement-widened ones. 

“Why . . . . this? You’re  _ pr’pose _ doesn’t . . . . make sense.” 

Everyone stared at him in various degrees of confusion. 

“You wan’ Angus t’ . . . . I dunno,  _ hate me?  _ Doesn’t make sense.” He took a shuddering breath, a stab of agony rewarding him for the effort. “This won’t lead t’ that. Wutchu’ve done won’t . . . . doesn’t work lak ‘at.” 

Murdoc stared at him, then gave him a knowing smile. He crouched down and leaned in close, whispering, “Oooh, you’ve caught me, Jimmy. Truth is, you remind me of my own father and suprise suprise, I don’t like that. Getting hold of you was just a bored scheme of mine, and then I had a  _ realisation.  _ I could strike the most crippling of blows to one of my greatest enemies in the process!” 

He stood, laughed in some sort of perverted triumph, and backed away. “Y’see, Jimmy, more than anything else in life I want to see you so low you’re  _ begging _ to die. Begging your own son to kill you, because guess what, honey-bear? That’s what it’s coming down to. So get ready, kids, ‘cause we can finally start kicking this thing into high gear!” 

* * * * *

“Oh goddammit leave him alone!” Jack about screamed. 

Murdoc gave a deranged laugh and whirled around to stare at him, leaving a very relieved and moaning James behind him, jaw becoming a mottled art of bruises. 

“And why should I?” he hissed in pleasure. 

Jack yanked against his restraints, purpling his wrists and feeling the tape draw some blood but not giving a shit. “You’re a fuckin’ psycho, Murdoc, an absolute goddamn deranged piece of shit maniacle asshat motherfucker twatface bastard sonuvabitch--” 

Murdoc threw back his head and just roared with laughter. He was wiping tears from his eyes before he eventually gasped, “Phew! Jack-off, you can really get going!” He was still grinning when he said, “What makes you think I care what you have to say, idiot?” 

Jack, trembling and red-faced in utter rage, just shrugged and snarled, “I don’t know or care, fuckwad, butchu better leave him alone or so he’p me dear God I’m ‘unna bust this chair across your throat and watch you die, you bastard!” 

Murdoc appeared nonchalant at that. “Yeah, well, good luck with  _ thaaat _ . . . . Jimmy! I recall we weren’t yet finished!” 


	16. “There’s Hurt You Can Cause Time Alone Cannot Heal”

James watched Murdoc walk back with a sinking feeling of despair, And he was sure it showed in accelerated breathing and shaking. 

Murdoc always caught the obvious and the subtle changes, damn him, and James had long since given up trying to wage any kind of subconscious warfare against him. It just wouldn’t work. And even if it would, James knew he’d lost too much blood to properly arm himself in a mental battle. 

He figured by now he had lost almost two liters of blood. It legitimately coated parts of the floor, some of it was on the walls. Most of it was puddled where he was sitting. 

He recognized the understandable confusion he was having, that was a helluva lotta blood. Another half a liter and he’d be dead. 

Murdoc somehow appeared to be following his thoughts. “We’ve taken quite a bit of blood from you, haven’t we?” he asked faux-softly. “Now that’s no good, is it?” 

He gestured to one of his minions and snapped his fingers. “Hook up some blood instead of the drugs.” 

After James figured out what he meant, he could have cried in relief. Blood loss felt very Not Good. The drugs felt . . . . James quirked his mouth as a saying came to mind, that he’d heard from a redneck, ‘like falling weiner first into a badger-hole.’ 

The minions did as they were told, none too gently, and stuck Jim’s very bruised elbow with the blood needle. The relief was immediate. 

Whether it was psycho-sematic or genuine physical relief, James didn’t know, but it was relief all the same so he didn’t really care. 

“Alright,” Murdoc said. “That was a favor. Now quid pro quo goes into effect.” 

Mack’s weariness was almost palpable as he sighed, “Alright, what do you want?” 

Murdoc grinned so widely he bore a remarkable resemblance to the Joker, and Jack had the thought that this was totally a DC situation they were in. 

“I want full, permanent immunity.” 

There was full silence for a long moment. 

_ “No!” _ James gasped/yelled. “Absolutely not!” 

Murdoc didn’t even look at him, just snapped his fingers and a henchman promptly nailed James in the solar plexus, doubling him over as far as possible and greying his face further into a disconcerting shade. 

“Quit it!” Jack yelled, glaring over his shoulder. “Goddammit, you wanna hit someone, hit me!” He was heaving in anger. “He’s so freaking out of it he can’t help you anyway!” 

Murdoc sauntered over and slowly leaned over him, smiling disconcertingly. “I don’t need his help. I don’t need to hit you. That’s the point, half-wit.” He looked over at Mack, or rather the back of his head. “I see why you’ve left Phoenix so many times, little bro. Buncha morons work there!” 

And Jack promptly head-butted him in the face. 

Murdoc’s head snapped back hard, and blood started flowing from his nose. He merely shook his head free of cobwebs and laughed. “Oh yeah, nowhere near your calibre!” 

And he slapped Jack across the face, open palmed, so hard Jack yelped. 

“Fine, you want to be the one Mack’s all sad for? Sounds good to me.” 

The henchman practically lunged for Jack, growling, “Oh I’m going to enjoy this!” 


	17. “There’s Too Much in This World I Can’t Seem to Shake”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted some Jack whump, I'm bringin' ya some Jack whump! Enjoy, and leave your thoughts!

They left James where he was, and he felt angry with himself at the unstoppable feeling of relief that they  _ finally _ weren’t going to be focused on him for once. He hated himself for that thought. 

The taller henchman, whom James had mentally dubbed as Red for the bright crimson bandana he wore, softened Jack up with a few rough punches before slicing the tape away and dragging him out of the chair, letting Jack land almost flat on his face. 

Jack, pissed off all to hell and gone, came up swinging. He tore through Red and was halfway through Wimpy, the smaller minion, to get to Murdoc and presumably rip his head off when Murdoc produced his gun. He shot through his own man to hit Jack. 

Wimpy dropped, well, like he’d been shot and didn’t move. 

Jack stumbled backward a few steps, bloodied face all confusion, before Red reared up from the floor and clocked him in the face. He hit the ground like a wet sack of jelloed concrete. 

Murdoc’s bullet had gone through the back of Wimpy’s head, exited his left eye at a slight upward angle, and hit Jack an inch above his eye. It cut a long furrow up his skull, to the point of seeing bone, and basically half-scalped him before bouncing off the wall opposite. It had flattened like a mangled penny. 

_ “Jack!” _ Mack screamed, yanking so hard against the tape he could have sworn he relocated or switched his radii and ulnae.  _ “Jack, get up!”  _

Jack groaned in response and lifted his right hand slightly, looking for what no one knew, before going still again. 

Red, bloodied and battered, stared down at him with a sneer, then looked over at Wimpy with minimal compassion. There was a little fear, though, and that was all Mack wanted, or needed, to see. 

James had tensed up and gone slightly ashen, or at least as far as he possibly could considering his position. He had yanked against the bolt and the cuffs once or twice, judging by the freshly seeping blood, but that had to have been too painful to continue. 

Murdoc was observing the room casually, one hand splayed across his hip and the other holding the pistol, pointed up into the air. He had a lazy smile on his face, that only widened when he observed Mack, seething. 

Dirty blond hair badly in need of a shower all over his face, so much that he had to stare past his own hair to glare daggers at Murdoc. His chest was heaving, and Murdoc happily clocked a trail of spittle running down his chin. He was sucking breath so violently that his cheeks were billowing comically, and Murdoc couldn’t have stopped his giggle if he tried. 

“Oh, Mackie, Mackie,  _ Mackie,  _ you’re just so  _ funny!” _

_ “Murdoc . . . .”  _ Mack warned stiffly, quietly. A tear fell unbidden from his eye, and he unconsciously rubbed it away on his shoulder. He leaned forward in his chair, and Murdoc felt a stab of  _ fear. _ “I’m gonna kill you, Murdoc.” 

All conscious parties stared at Mack in shock. It was clear that he absolutely meant it. 

Murdoc’s smirk faded into a look of mild surprise. “Oh you will, will you?” His mirth had totally disappeared. Now he was utterly serious. And it was terrifying. 

And Mack matched him tone for deadly tone and intent. 

“Bet your  _ ass _ I am. I’m gonna get you, Murdoc.  _ I’m going to get you.”  _


End file.
